


Turnabout

by brynnmck



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-11
Updated: 2005-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 06:36:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/833856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brynnmck/pseuds/brynnmck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>She's got one Raider in her sights and she's already lining up the next one when Lee's Mark VII comes out of nowhere, spiraling through her line of fire to nail the Raider that's riding Hotdog's ass. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turnabout

**Author's Note:**

> [](http://stars-like-dust.livejournal.com/profile)[**stars_like_dust**](http://stars-like-dust.livejournal.com/) has the horrible death flu and requested some K/L fic, and I can't refuse Claira anything, because I adore her. So. Set sometime between "Hand of God" and "Colonial Day." And thanks to one of my favorite people, [](http://danceswithwords.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://danceswithwords.livejournal.com/)**danceswithwords** , for the speed-beta.

Kara figures they're settling into a routine when Lee waits until they get back to the officers' quarters to lecture her.

"Nice maneuver at the end there, Starbuck," he tells her, and his tone is deceptively calm, but even with her back turned to him, she can hear his gritted teeth.

"Thanks," she answers breezily, continues digging in her locker for clean underwear.

"I didn't know a Viper could even pull a turn that sharp without burning out the nav systems."

She finds her underwear, grabs a towel and straightens up to face him, fixes a cheerful, cocky grin on her face that she knows will drive him insane. "Well, that's why you hired me, right? Outside-the-box thinking."

He's not smiling, and there's both fear and temper simmering in his eyes. "Kara—"

"Lee." She ignores the tiny quiver in her stomach. "It worked, we got the bad guys, it's over. OK? So relax." She gives him a patronizing pat on the cheek, then heads for the door. "I'll leave you some hot water," she calls over her shoulder as she leaves, and as she makes her way down the corridor, it hits her that she's kind of starting to enjoy these little chats.

 

***** 

 

Three days later, she's got one Raider in her sights and she's already lining up the next one when Lee's Mark VII comes out of nowhere, spiraling through her line of fire to nail the Raider that's riding Hotdog's ass. Normally she knows exactly where he is at any given time during a battle, but it catches her off-guard and her instincts take over, her hands jerking the stick to the left while her brain is still spinning, and her missiles snake past his hull with inches to spare. Kat and Popcorn take out the last Raider between them, and it's a good thing because her hands are starting to shake, and when Dee calls them back to _Galactica_ , Kara's skids hit the deck and she can't even remember how she got there.

It takes her a few extra seconds to make her legs work well enough to get her out of the cockpit, so by the time she pops the canopy, the other pilots and half the deck crew are gathered around Apollo, laughing and shouting and slapping him on the back.

"Nice moves, Captain," she hears Cally shout above the din, sees Lee grin and wink at the specialist before he's distracted by Hotdog's congratulatory smack on the head. Kara just stares for a few minutes, stunned, until a white-hot wave of rage washes over her, carries her down the ladder and through the crowd until she's glaring into his smug blue eyes.

"Permission to speak with you in private, sir," she grinds out, her fists itching to knock the grin off his face. Vaguely, she's aware of a distance growing around them, of shouts and laughter fading into murmuring and the occasional snicker.

"Permission granted, Lieutenant," he replies, all calm and courteous Captain, and now she really wants to hit him. But she restrains herself, forces herself to walk at a normal pace; an office or storage room would really be better, but she can't make it further than the supply closet, veers into the small space. Lee apparently knows what's good for him, because he follows her despite the unorthodox choice of venues, and she catches a glimpse of his frakking smirk before she turns her back on him to close the hatch.

"What," and she slams the door, "the frak," and she spins the lock with a vengeance, so hard that it bounces and spins back again, "was that?" She rounds on him.

Lee just raises an eyebrow. "Outside-the-box thinking," he answers innocently.

"You frakking—" She finally gives into the impulse, pulls her fist back and swings. But she's so angry she telegraphs it like crazy, and he's got plenty of time to grab her wrist, grab her other forearm and push her back, slam her against the wall between the shelves.

"What's the problem, Kara?" he asks her, mocking. His hips are pressed against hers. "It worked, we got the bad guys, it's over. Right?"

"Lee—" Panic and heat twist together in her belly. "You could have—I could have—"

" _Exactly_ ," he hisses back, his pretense of calm disappearing. "Every time we go out there, Kara, you take—"

She struggles against his hold, fails, growls and slams her head back against the wall in frustration. "But not like that, gods damn you! You flew into my fire, you frakking idiot!"

His hot, steady gaze falters for a second, then his mouth goes hard again. "You did the same thing to me a week ago."

"It's not the same," she forces out between uneven breaths. Something is building in her chest, jagged and awkward. It hurts to swallow.

"Really? So because of Zak, it's worse if you kill me than if I kill you?"

He's implacable, almost ruthless, and hearing him say it—all of it—has her eyes burning, and she wants to run but he won't frakking move. "I—don't—" and as the first tears spill over, she closes her eyes and lets her head fall to her chest, humiliated.

He does nothing at all for a few seconds, then he sighs and drops his head to hers. "I'm sorry, OK?" he whispers raggedly. "I didn't plan that. But it doesn't matter. My fire or the Cylons' fire or another stupid frakking planet, you keep flying like you do—"

"It's my job, Lee," she says, desperate, forcing back the traitor tears. He smells like adrenaline and engine oil and standard-issue soap.

"It's my job, too," he answers stubbornly, his fingers tightening again around her wrists, still pinned to the wall. She shakes her head, as much as she can with his forehead pressed to hers.

"You're the CAG."

He makes an incoherent sound, frustration and desperation, and she can feel his breath on her lips. "Gods, Kara, will you just—" and then he gives up with a groan, falls the last inch between them and closes his mouth over hers.

She can't breathe and that's only one of a million reasons not to do this, but she kisses him back fiercely, defiantly, feeling him warm and solid against her. She keeps seeing it behind her closed eyes, seeing red fire inches from his hull, and she wrenches her hands out of his slackened grip, grabs the collar of his flight suit and pulls him closer. One or both of them is talking, mangled words around gasps and tongues, _careful_ and _come back_ and _frak you_ and _sorry_. One of her legs wraps around his; his hand fists tight in the fabric at her waist.

Somewhere between a second and a week later, the clang of the hatch opening jolts through her like a gunshot.

Lee jumps and releases her immediately, stepping back and unconsciously straightening his flight suit. She blinks a few times to clear her vision, until she can make out Jammer standing in the doorway, looking like he's been smacked in the back of the head with a landing strut.

"Can we help you, Specialist?" Lee asks finally, moving surreptitiously behind the waist-high remnants of an engine.

"Sorry, sirs," the boy stammers, "I was just—no one said—I didn't—" He backs through the open hatch, still mumbling, and just before it closes behind him, Kara can hear the rest of the deckhands laughing.

When she looks back at Lee, there's humor creeping into his expression, but there's still heat and hunger there, too, enough to make her shiver. "Have we said what we needed to say, Lieutenant?" he asks her, and the rough gravel of his voice slides over her like a caress.

"For the moment, sir," she replies, lifting her chin, feeling the rapid tattoo of her heart against her ribcage. Lee cocks an eyebrow at her, and she's about half a breath from jumping him again when he nods slowly and moves toward the door.

"Very good, then," he says, his hand on the hatch, and then with a last, long look, he's gone.

Feeling suddenly lightheaded, Kara lets herself fall back against the wall, braces her hands on her knees. She's just starting to regain her equilibrium when she hears Cally say, deliberately loud, "Must be something about that closet…"

And that's the last straw. Abandoning all pretense of control, Kara just crumples to the floor and laughs until she can't breathe.


End file.
